


A Fire When It's Cold Outside

by roseandheather



Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: Camping, Don't Try This At Home, Ed Has A Dominant Streak, F/M, Leanne Is A Saucy Minx, Leanne Really Likes It, Outdoor Sex, PWP, The Author Is Ashamed Of Herself (But Not Really)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6284842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseandheather/pseuds/roseandheather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed and Leanne go camping.</p><p>And then there is smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fire When It's Cold Outside

"I can't believe you convinced me to do this." Eyes closed, hair spilling free, Leanne feels rather like a cat in the sunshine. Ed's stomach rises and falls in a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm beneath her ear, and his free hand gently scratches her scalp in a touch so soothing that she honestly wants to purr like her cat.

"I can't believe I did, either," he admits wryly, glancing up from his book - an honest-to-God, battered paperback Michael Crichton novel - long enough to smile at her in an expression she feels but doesn't see. The tarp beneath their blanket crinkles beneath them, and she can hear the slight breeze rustling the flaps of their tent. The scent of burnt wood and ash still drifts her way from the fire pit, and beyond it all is the gentle, lapping waves of the lake. "Convince you to go completely off the grid for a solid week? The angels in Heaven are on my side, I tell you."

"Flatterer," she says idly, without bothering to open her eyes. His stomach is a more comfortable pillow than any she's ever had, and if she weren't enjoying the sensation so much, she'd already be asleep. He smells like sweat and pine trees and something indefinable, and it wraps around her like a security blanket. Just for now, nothing else matters beyond the gentle tug of his hand in her hair, the small splashes of the waves on the water, and the warmth soaking into her bones.

She's not sure when the warmth begins to burn, but she doesn't fight it. Her hand drifts to cover the half-hard bulge of his jeans, and his fingers tug sharply on her hair before he lets out a long, slow breath. "Lea," he says, warningly.

"Hmm." Her breath gusts out and his hips twitch upward, his fingers clenching again - and not releasing this time. "Something the matter?" She can't resist playing the innocent.

"Leanne Marie," he says, darkly, and there's a definite warning in his voice now - one that sends a hot thrill down her spine.

Idly, she rubs her thumb over that denim-covered bulge, a touch so light it's almost ghosting.

He moves so fast she never sees it coming. One minute she's curled on her side, her hand in a _highly_ inappropriate place; the next she's flat on her back on her blanket, her hands pinned over her head, Ed hovering over her on hands and knees with his grey eyes blazing and his book cast off into the grass.

She nearly melts on the spot.

"How?" Her voice is embarrassingly squeaky. She doesn't care.

"Two years in the Gulf," he says with a dark, predatory kind of satisfaction, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "A military man never forgets. And _you,_ Ms. Leanne Marie, are in a great deal of trouble."

 _Oh,_ she thinks, a little dizzily. _Hospital corpsman. Served in the Gulf. Right. How did I forget that?_

The tug of his hand at the waistband of her shorts dispatches any remaining ability to think in _very_ short order.

"Stay still," he orders, curling her fingers around the tufts of grass over her head. "This is _my_ show."

He licks her open until she's crying, until her hips can't stay still and she's sobbing with frustration. At one point she bites her lip to muffle a cry and he replaces his tongue with his fingers, looking up at her with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Go ahead," he tells her silkily, fingers still teasing. "No one can hear you. You're welcome to scream."

When he curls two fingers inside her, then adds his tongue, she does.

" _Ed,_ " she chokes, and goes flying for the first time.

He strokes her through it, making soothing noises into the tender skin of her thigh as her body comes down. "Oh, you don't think I'm done yet, do you?" The dark promise in his voice streaks fire along her nerves. "Baby, I'm just getting started."

She responds with a frustrated sob, blades of grass snapping in her fingers.

And yet, she can't bring herself to move.

He works her up again with astounding patience, lips skating over her abdomen, her ribs, shoving her tank top up her body so his mouth can take her breasts. She bucks her hips against his from sheer frustration, but even though he's as desperate for it as she is, he maintains his patience, teasing first one nipple and then the other so exquisitely she feels the ache down in her toes.

"Christ," he mutters against the curve of her breast, and grinds his erection against her thigh. "Oh, _God,_ you taste good..."

When he lifts his eyes to hers again - eyes she can hardly see through the sweat and tears and drenching sunlight - she feels something coil tight, deep in her gut, when she sees that he is far, _far_ less collected than he sounds, and when he kisses her she licks the taste of herself from his mouth with a needy groan she just can't stop.

There's nothing like this on earth, making love under the open sky with the sunlight and summer breeze kissing her skin. The color of the grass is starting to stain her fingers, and the odd pebble pokes into her back through the tarp and their blankets. It's as though she's been stripped bare, any defenses she had battered to ruins. She is entirely at his mercy, helpless and wanton, and it's the safest she's felt in years.

Taut as a bowstring, ready to snap, she cants her hips in unmistakable invitation.

"Yeah," he mutters, and presses a distracted kiss to her shoulder before he shoves his shorts and boxers off and away. For a moment she almost feels a chill, naked and exposed, but then his welcome weight is back on her, and his hand comes up to cup her cheek in the gentlest of caresses. "I'm here, baby," he murmurs, brushing kisses over her face. "Hold on -"

She's coming before he's halfway inside her, the blunt pressure shearing through heat to splinter her like crystal. " _Ed,_ " she cries, helpless and unrestrained, and her own name is an answering prayer on his lips as she ripples and shakes until the whole world fractures.

He's still hard inside her when she comes to again, and his lips have barely touched hers before she's whimpering into his mouth and silently begging him to move. He does then, a steady, _perfect_ rhythm that seems to fall into her own heartbeat. It hardly seems possible that she can come again, not after this, not _like_ this, but then he twists his hips and sets his teeth in her collarbone and she cries out, a shocked, startled noise as loud as the heat in her gut is blazing. 

"There we are," he murmurs, his voice as rough and wrecked as she feels. "Come on, baby, give me one more, okay?"

Fretful and whining, she tosses her head and bucks her hips, and he noses the flushed, damp skin of her cheek. "Come on, Leanne, you're almost there - that's it, Lea, just let go - "

And she does. Taking the words as the permission they are, she releases her hands at last, throwing her arms around his sturdy shoulders until her nails are digging crescents into his back. "Christ," she whispers, fingers digging harder, and his hips lose their rhythm, one-two- _three_ bucking and uncoordinated as he groans her name in her ear.

"With me," she says, demanding. He buries his face in her shoulder and comes apart, shaking and crying and holding on to her, and when the world breaks around them, he's the only real thing still there.

~*~

"Oh, Leanne," he says, sometime later when the sun has sunk lower in the sky and the breeze has dried the sweat on their skin. Her head is back on his stomach - where it belongs, in her opinion, and she thinks his too - but she's facing him now, the hand she's holding in both of hers pressed to her heart while his free hand strokes her still-damp hair. He offers her a smile that's distinctly wobbly, and if the breeze is just a little too chilly on her bare skin - or his - she doesn't think either of them have the will to mention it yet.

"I know," she murmurs, and idly kisses his knuckles. "You and me - it's not like anything else."

"No," he says, huskily. "No, it isn't."

He hasn't bothered to retrieve his book - has seemed entirely absorbed in looking at her, though what he sees she doesn't really want to contemplate. Her body has its share of scars; thin, shiny lines creasing the muscles of her legs and arms and torso where too many surgeries had sewn her back together. She's older now, too - her breasts not as firm, her stomach still soft from the children she's carried, crow's feet fanning from the corners of her eyes. But he's never seemed to care about that, and when she asks, all he's ever had to say is, "It's you, Leanne. That's what makes you beautiful to me. It's _you._ "

She's not sure she believes him, but she believes that _he_ believes it, and that's more than enough.

"I love you," she says into the silence, and his smile puts the burgeoning sunset to shame.

"I love you, too. So much." He strokes a thumb over her ear, and once again, part of her wishes she could purr. "I wish..."

He stops, and she blinks up at him. "You wish what?"

"I wish we could just stay like this," he admits, and closes his eyes briefly. "That I never had to share you again."

Her eyes fly wide open at that - and wider still, when she realizes she agrees with him. "Me too," she says, wonderingly. "I never thought... but I do too." Buying time, she kisses his hand again, simply because she can. "This is for keeps, isn't it?" she asks, half terrified, but already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," he admits, his voice gruff. "It is."

"Okay," she says, and is surprised at how 'okay' she really is with it. "Come here." And she pulls his mouth down to hers.

Later that night, bundled in the flannel-lined warmth of their shared sleeping bags, she tucks her head in the curve of his arm and just breathes. The wind whistles over the nylon of their tent, and outside the last embers of the fire are dying. Her fingers are still grass-stained, and only Ed's soft breathing and the sounds of nature break the night's silence.

She's used to honks and ambulance sirens, subways and pedestrians shouting. For years, she'd been afraid of silence - because the silence meant time to _think,_ to remember, to wish with every aching cell that she was somewhere she could never be again.

But here, far away from city lights and street sounds, with only the chirping crickets and rustling critters of the night to fill the quiet, she realizes that she doesn't have to be afraid any more.

She's curled in Ed Harbert's arms, surrounded, sheltered, _safe._

There's nowhere she needs to run to.

She's already there.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: the working title for this was "HERE HAVE SMUT". I don't know what it is about Ed Harbert that drives my mind to dirty, dirty places, but....
> 
> Okay, that's a lie. I absolutely know, and the answer is 'Jeff Hephner'. I just want to _lick him_. And a number of other NC17-rated things I'm not going to discuss here, because I'm a lady. Suffice it to say I think I'll cry if he doesn't come back for S2. (There will be an S2. No God is so cruel as to leave us without one.) 
> 
> Speaking of, my little headcanon of Ed Harbert being an ex-Navy Hospital Corpsman is sort-of poached from Jeff Clarke, Hephner's character on _Chicago Fire_ , who was a former Marine. There's much, much more to Ed "cool and collected" Harbert than we've seen so far, and given his hair (and a certain something about the way he carries himself, never mind the hints that he's been up to his elbows in blood and guts at some point), military seems as likely a possibility as any.
> 
> Anyway. This is shameless porn. Which I'm not good at, frankly, but Ed and Leanne wanted to get frisky, so... I hope you liked?


End file.
